


Little League

by JJK



Series: Coach Steve [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Baseball, Baseball Innuendos, Baseball Player Steve, Baseball puns, Embedded Images, Fluff, I apologise, M/M, Mechanic Bucky Barnes, coach steve - Freeform, seriously, so many baseball sex jokes, this is just pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23302993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJK/pseuds/JJK
Summary: The coach gave Isaac’s shoulder a squeeze before unfolding from his crouch. Bucky’s breath caught in his chest as he watched the man stand up to his full height. Tall and broad shouldered with a slim waist, wearing dark blue trackpants that hugged the curves of his glutesperfectly. Why had Bucky not been paying attention tohimfor the past three hours?=aka baseball coach Steve and supportive uncle Bucky.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Coach Steve [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1746943
Comments: 113
Kudos: 838





	Little League

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fadefilter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadefilter/gifts).



> This is a fic / art exchange with [@Fadefilter](https://twitter.com/fadefilter) who requested:
> 
> _"5k words of baseball coach Steve and supportive uncle Bucky who comes to his niece / nephew's game, they meet and flirt and Steve takes Bucky on a date. (Bonus if Steve teaches Bucky how to play too)."_
> 
> I asked from some art to accompany fic, which as been embedded into the text. It's so wonderful 😍😍 please go like the posts twitter too!
> 
> (Warning for some sex references / implied sex scenes, and far too many baseball innuendos).

Little League Baseball was never the most interesting sport, but Bucky wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to watch his nephew play, especially not when he managed to have a rare Saturday morning without a shift at the garage. He had to admit though, today’s match was particularly dull. Not even the helicopter parents or the overly competitive ones (who insisted on standing by the side-lines shouting conflicting and unhelpful information at the top of their lungs) had much to say. They'd gone into the sixth innings at a dismal 2-1 (to the other team); and even those runs seemed to have been scored by accident. Isaac had made a pretty spectacular catch way back in the top of the second, back when Bucky still had hope for his Saturday morning, but since then it had been a downhill slog. 

At least it would be over soon, there was only one batsman left to take the plate and, for some unfathomable reason, the duty of salvaging the game came to rest on Isaac’s shoulders. Second base was loaded, if Isaac managed a decent hit there was a chance the other kid could make it home they’d level the score. If Isaac made a miraculous home run, they might even be able to win. But Bucky had watched his nephew play often enough to know his talent lay in the outfield, not facing down the pitcher. 

Bucky shuffled to the edge of the bench and tried desperately not to bite his fingernails as Isaac stepped up to the plate. He looked so tiny, only seven years old and short for his age. His helmet kept slipping into his eyes but he squared his shoulders and stood ready to face the pitch. The first one went wide. 

“No ball!” the ref called.

“C’mon Isaac, you got this.” Bucky muttered under his breath. His heart rate picked up, this was the most exciting thing to happen all morning. 

A dull thunk echoed around the field as Isaac’s bat made contact with the ball. 

“Run, Isaac, run!” Bucky leapt up to shout through cupped hands. The ball sailed high, and for a shining moment it looked like it might be okay, before it landed neatly into the hands of the second baseman, who wasted no time throwing it to third before the other kid managed to tag the base. “Damn.”

Cheers erupted from the other team (and their parents) as the fielders ran together to form a very messy group hug and celebrate their victory. Bucky watched as Isaac’s shoulders slumped. He kicked the dirt angrily and stomped towards the dugout. It made Bucky’s chest ache to see his nephew in such distress and he gathered up his belongings as quickly as he could to hurtle down the narrow steps of the stand to comfort him.

The coach beat him to it. As Bucky fought his way through the crowds of kids and parents gathering up their stuff, he spotted the coach kneeling down in front of Isaac with a gentle hand placed on the kid’s shoulder. 

“Hey, it’s not your fault.” The coach was saying. “You did a great job out there. I know batting’s not your favourite and you were really scared of going out last,”

Isaac nodded, blubbering slightly. 

“But you did it anyway! D’you know how brave that is?” The coach asked. 

Bucky couldn’t see the coach’s face from where he was standing but his voice sounded gentle, and Bucky bet he’d have a great expression to match. 

“You stepped up to the mark and you gave it your best shot. No one can ever ask more from you than that, and I am so proud of you.” The coach sounded so sincere. He was clearly great with kids, probably not surprising since he coached Little League in his spare time, but there was something about his tone and the way he sounded genuinely proud of Isaac tugged on Bucky’s heartstrings. 

Isaac nodded at the coach. He wiped his snotty nose with the sleeve of his jersey and managed to give the coach a weak smile. Bucky found himself smiling too. 

“And you remember that great catch you made earlier? That made a huge difference, okay? That was amazing – high five?” 

Isaac’s hand was still balled inside his snot covered sleeve when he high fived the coach, who thankfully didn’t balk or break the moment. Bucky began to examine the guy properly, how had he never noticed him before? 

“Everyone has their different strengths, which is why we play as a team. And there’s no one I’d rather have in Center Field than you. Okay?”

“Okay. Thanks, Coach.”

The coach gave Isaac’s shoulder a squeeze before unfolding from his crouch. Bucky’s breath caught in his chest as he watched the man stand up to his full height. Tall and broad shouldered with a slim waist, wearing dark blue trackpants that hugged the curves of his glutes _perfectly_. Why had Bucky not been paying attention to _him_ for the past three hours? 

“Your mom here yet?” The coach asked.

Isaac glanced up and around until he spotted Bucky hovering by the chain link fence that guarded the dugout from stray balls. Bucky took that as his cue and gave a sheepish wave as he stepped forwards. “Hey, kiddo, you ready to go?” Bucky asked. 

“Yeah.” Isaac still sounded a little glum but it was nothing to how he’d looked when he stepped off the field. 

“Got all your stuff?” Bucky asked. It was clear Isaac hadn’t even thought about packing his things together yet as the blue kitbag Bucky knew belonged to him was empty, with stuff strewn all along the dugout bench. As Isaac began to hastily shove it back into his bag, Bucky turned to the coach to thank him for the pep talk and found himself staring at the most attractive man he’d ever seen. No matter how good he’d looked from behind, Bucky just wasn’t prepared to come face to face with someone that handsome. His face was bright and open, despite the neatly trimmed beard obscuring the lower half of his face and the baseball cap that covered his forehead. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but Bucky couldn’t work out what it was, and when his face broke into a warm smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, Bucky was too distracted to think straight. Honestly, it was hard to look away. 

“He played really well today, Mr Proctor.” The coach told Bucky. “Don’t let him be too hard on himself.”

“It’s Bucky,” he corrected automatically, stumped for a minute, before he realised the coach must think he was Isaac’s dad. “Bucky Barnes. I’m his uncle.” _His single and very available uncle_ , Bucky wanted to add, but of course he didn’t. It would have been completely inappropriate to hit on his nephew's baseball coach. At least with Isaac right there, anyway. Which he was, back in an instant with his kit bag slung over his shoulder. A kit bag that had been packed without any kind of ceremony, letting the sleeve of his spare jersey and a loose sock spill over the sides. 

“You okay, buddy? You did great today.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Isaac scuffed his feet again. “Can we still go for waffles even though we lost?” The poor kid sounded so worried. Bucky scooped him into a hug, holding him close and ruffling Isaac’s hair with his other hand. 

“Of course! Consolation waffles are a tradition as old as time.”

“What’s con-sill-shun?” Isaac asked. Sometimes Bucky forgot the kid was only seven.

“Means you get more ice-cream, pal.”

The prospect of ice cream and waffles brightened Isaac’s mood like Bucky knew it would. Isaac tugged himself free of the hug and grinned up at Bucky; bad mood gone in an instant as he bounced excitedly on the balls of his feet. 

“Why don’t you go wait by the car?” Bucky suggested, handing Isaac the keys and hoping he might grab a private moment with the coach. Isaac didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed his kit bag and ran off across the pitch to the car. “That was some pep talk.”

The coach shrugged. He lifted his baseball cap to drag his hand through blonde locks that were swept off his forehead and curled, just slightly, behind his ears, before securing the cap in place once more. Bucky watched the move, mesmerised, and couldn’t help but notice that his ring finger was bare. 

“I try my best.” The coach gave a self-deprecating smile. “I remember what it was like at that age, where every game you lost felt like the end of the world. Simpler times.”

“I dunno,” Bucky glanced to the parking lot and watched Isaac disappear safely into his car. He remembered plenty of times in school so choked with tears that he actually felt like he was going to die. “The stakes were imagined but the emotions were real. I remember when Lizzie Cooper dumped me in 8th grade. Certainly felt like my life was over.” He huffed a laugh.

“Can’t imagine you having much difficulty getting dates in high school.” The coach replied with an unexpected lilt to his words. Bucky snapped his attention back to him. Was he _flirting_? Bucky scrutinised the coach’s face but it was hard to tell. “Maybe not,” Bucky smirked back. “Still didn’t make it any less nerve wrecking.” 

“Huh, tell me about it.” The coach grinned. He opened his mouth to say something else when an impatient cough from behind Bucky reminded them that they weren’t alone. Most of the other kids and their parents had headed home, but there were a few people hovering around clearly waiting to speak to the coach, and the dugout was a mess of lost and forgotten items. “I, uh, should get packed up.” The coach said, sounding genuinely cut up about having to cut their conversation short. “See you around?”

“Sure thing, Coach.” Bucky wracked his brain for an excuse to keep talking, but his brain helpfully supplied him with nothing. There would always be next Saturday, he reasoned. 

“It’s Steve.” He offered, flashing Bucky another warm smile. 

“See you next Saturday then, Steve.”

Bucky drove Isaac to get waffles in a daze. Thankfully his nephew didn’t seem to care that he didn’t have his uncle’s full attention, in fact he used it to his advantage: ordering far more toppings and smothering his plate with far more syrups and sauces than Bucky would normally allow. Becca was going to ream him out for it, but Bucky found it hard to care; his thoughts were stuck on a pair of bright blue eyes, a warm smile and a strong caring voice. Next Saturday couldn’t come soon enough. 

=

It quickly became a routine for Bucky to pick Isaac up from his midweek practise and stay to watch his Saturday games. After three weeks Becca stopped bothering to ask Bucky if he was going to take Isaac to his match and just had him waiting by the door for Bucky to pick up. She must have suspected there was more to it than just baseball, no one liked sitting through kids’ games that much, but she didn’t comment on it. If anything, she seemed pleased that Bucky was finally moving out of the funk he’d been in for the past few months. The extra time he was spending with his nephew certainly didn’t hurt either. 

Bucky had to pull in every favour he owed at work to swap his Saturday morning shifts, but it was well worth it to sit in the stands behind Steve and watch him wrangle his team of six-to-eight-year olds with infinite patience and care. The kids all loved Steve, that much was clear, and he had a calm authority that had even the most restless kids staying focused throughout the game. He must also have been a phenomenal player in his own right, Bucky realised, as he watched Steve carefully correct Isaac’s grip on the bat, or talk the team’s eight-year-old pitcher through improving her two-seam fastball. 

Bucky kept managing to find excuses to get to practise just that little bit earlier so he could watch Steve demonstrate batting routines the kids could all try and home without breaking their neighbours’ windows. And so what if he offered to stay and help Steve pack everything away afterwards? Finding excuses to brush hands as he handed equipment over, and jokingly mocking Steve’s life choices at every turn. The man drove an Infiniti QX70 for crying out loud. 

“If you’re gonna waste your money on a car like that at least buy a merc or a Cadillac or _something_.” Bucky teased him. 

And don’t get him started on Steve’s inability to buy clothes that fit properly. Bucky suspected it might have been on purpose - at least, Steve’s shirts _seemed_ to have gotten tighter and tighter the longer Bucky knew him - and whilst that was a delightful prospect, it didn’t mean Steve was going to get away with it unchallenged. “You know shirts come in sizes other than extra-small, right?” Bucky laughed. “Or did you leave it the dryer for too long, again?”

Steve seemed to love Bucky’s teasing though, and he gave back as good as he got. 

“No, you’re not a _Reds_ fan.” Steve complained when Bucky ushered Isaac towards the dug out one Saturday morning and took up his usual spot on the bench closest to where Steve stood during the game. That morning he was sporting his old worn ‘Cincinnati Reds’ baseball cap with his hair pulled back into a low bun at the back of his head underneath. The cap had been sun-bleached and faded from repeated washes and had a little tear along the rim, but was by far the most comfortable hat he owned.

“Gimme a break, I grew up in Indiana. Who else was I meant to support, the _Cubs?_ ” Bucky laughed. He got his own back when Steve had the audacity to sport a Yankees cap to the next game. 

“You’re one to talk,” Bucky teased. “The Yankees? Seriously. Thought you said you were born and bred Brooklyn? Everyone knows you’re s’posed to support the Mets.” Bucky grinned as he said it though, and Steve grinned right back.

Despite spending almost the entire match flirting with each other (when Steve wasn’t being used as a jungle gym by the kids on the bench, or consoling the ones who’d been run out) Bucky still couldn’t bring himself to ask Steve out. It was on the tip of his tongue at the end of every game, but he lost his nerve every time. Being cautious in love was a new development for Bucky and so far he wasn’t sure how much he liked it. But his last relationship had seriously dented his confidence. The breakup had been long and drawn out, and made Bucky question everything he thought he knew about reading romantic cues from other people. 

Gradually, they learnt little snippets of information about each other, like how Steve’s day job was graphic design for a tech firm in the city, and how Bucky had moved to New York with his family when he was ten and stayed ever since. Steve talked a lot about two people called ‘Nat’ and ‘Sam’, but as far as Bucky could tell Steve wasn’t dating either of them; he didn’t seem to be dating anyone and didn’t seem to have much inclination to start.

The more time Bucky spent with Steve the more he knew he was desperately falling for him, not just for his looks but for the kind heart that lurked beneath. He was pretty sure Steve liked him right back, and Bucky had come to cherish their Saturday mornings. In many ways Steve seemed too good to be true and Bucky was reluctant to ruin what they had by asking for anything more. 

=

Bucky knew he’d been getting away with murder so far at work, managing to swap his Saturday shifts without anyone batting an eye, but he also knew it couldn’t last forever. They were a close-knit unit at ‘Dugan’s Auto Repairs’ and the guys never let anything slip past them for too long. 

“Alright, spill. You gonna tell me what you’ve been up to Saturday mornings that’s so important?” Dugan cornered Bucky in the garage Thursday afternoon after he’d managed to convince Jones to swap shifts _again_.

“My nephew’s got a baseball game.” Bucky shrugged, elbow deep in the engine of a Subaru as he tried to fix a faulty spark plug. 

“Since when are you uncle of the year?” Dugan wanted to know.

“Hey.” Bucky carefully extracted his hands and balled a grease stained rag to throw at Dugan’s head. “I’ve always been a great uncle.”

“He does dote on that kid.” Morita piped up to defend Bucky, earning himself a smile. 

“But this is the _fifth_ Saturday in a row. I’ve watched Little League,” Dugan argued. “It’s boring as hell!” Dugan was the only one of their group who had children, though Jones and his wife were expecting in the fall (which is why he was more than happy to pick up extra shifts now). 

“I like baseball.” Bucky shrugged, hoping they’d let it slide. He stooped to pluck the rag up off the floor and wiped his hands on it before closing the bonnet on the Subaru. 

“If you’re hiding something from us. We’ll get it out of you.” Dugan clapped him on the back, a little harder than necessary and sent Bucky stumbling forwards a few paces. He grimaced; he wasn’t intentionally hiding anything, there just wasn’t really anything to tell. 

“Still coming for drinks tonight, aren’t you, Barnes?” Morita asked.

“Planning to.”

“Not worried you’ll miss baseball practise?” Dugan taunted. 

Bucky rolled his eyes. Their jokes would only get worse when they found out he had a crush on his nephew’s baseball coach, like he was some sort of a love-sick teenager.

Unfortunately, they found out much sooner than Bucky had expected. Jones was turning thirty at the weekend, and whilst he’d be spending the actual day with his family, the guys wanted to see his birthday in with style; which meant paintball followed by beers, like any bunch of respectable, full-grown men would do. There was a place out in Lawrence that was their go to for mini-golf, paintballing and go-karting. Though it was probably meant to cater for kids during the day, the complex was surrounded by bars, and it was the perfect place to blow off steam at the end of a long working day. 

What Bucky had failed to take into account was the batting cages set up opposite the paintball obstacle course. Dugan had let them skip off work early to get the most of the daylight and at 4.30pm on a Thursday, all of the cages were empty except one. Bucky would know those broad shoulders and slim waist anywhere. From the looks of things, he had the machine set to pitch at the fastest speed and he was sending home run winning shots clattering into the nets with almost every swing of his bat. Honestly, how on earth was Bucky meant to focus on paintball with that sight to distract him? He tried to ignore Steve by turning his back on him, but even just the dull, rhythmic _thunks_ of Steve making his shots was enough to put Bucky off his game. He lost, drastically, and ended up being splattered with paint from head to toe, some of which even managed to sweep under the overalls he’d been wearing. 

“Whatever’s up with you, Barnes, we’ll find out soon enough.” Dugan laughed and ruffled Bucky’s paint splattered hair, rubbing neon pink paint into his scalp and making it damn near impossible to wash out. He tried his best in the small, cold sinks to hand; running his hands through his hair to rinse out all the paint and turning the sink into a multicoloured mess in the process. He dried it as best he could under the hand drier before sweeping it up in a bun at the back of his head. There was nothing he could do about the finger smears of yellow that brushed down the side of his thigh where he’d absently wiped his hands, but he knew it wouldn’t matter for the dive bar around the corner. At least he’d managed to rinse all the pink from his hair, or so he’d thought, but apparently, he’d missed a spot, as a deep familiar voice oh so helpfully pointed out whilst Bucky waited at the bar to buy the first round of drinks (his punishment for losing the game).

“Missed a spot,” Steve grinned and sidled up next to Bucky at the bar. “Though pink kind of suits you.”

“Ha. Thanks.” Bucky deadpanned and reached up to pull his fingers through his hair to find the errant paint. 

“Here.” Steve worked his fingers through the tendrils hanging loose from the bun. Bucky had to work very hard not to lean into his touch.

“It’s your fault.” Bucky pouted.

“Mine? How?” Steve looked confused. 

“Showing off in the batting cages like that, how’s a man supposed to focus?”

Steve tipped his head back and laughed, properly laughed. It was a wonderful sound. “I’m sorry. I s’pose I should buy you a drink to make up for it?” There was that flirtatious lilt again. 

“Yeah I s’pose you should.” Bucky smiled back. He’d already ordered but he fully intended to take Steve up on the offer another time. He propped his hip against the bar and turned to give Steve his full attention. It was rare that they got to talk without a slew of kids around or Isaac wailing, _“can we goooo already?”_ from around their knees. 

“Do you come out here often to practise?” Bucky asked. 

“When I can. It’s better than any of the indoor ones closer to the city.” Steve shrugged, propping his hip against the bar as well. “You come here to lose at paintball often?” He smirked in their usual brand of affectionate teasing.

Bucky feigned offence and nudged Steve with his hip. “I’m usually pretty good, actually.”

“Oh yeah?”

“When there isn’t some big dumb jock distracting me.” 

“Hey, I have an honours degree, you know.”

“Okay, a big _smart_ jock, then.” Bucky grinned. 

The bartender finished pouring the last of Bucky’s beers and passed them across to him on a tray.

“How many drinks am I buying you?” Steve laughed.

“Nah, it’s alright, I’ve got these.” Bucky inclined his head over to his friends who’d found a booth by the wall. “You owe me a drink another time, though?”

“For sure.” 

Bucky was reluctant to walk away from Steve, but he couldn’t just abandon his friends. He wasn’t the kind of guy who did that. After bidding Steve goodbye (pretty sure he was imagining the way Steve’s shoulders slumped in his wake) Bucky carefully carried the tray of drinks back to the booth and slid it into the centre of the table; Morita and Dernier reached to pluck their drinks from it before it was even fully settled. 

“Get distracted?” Dugan teased at the same time as Jones asked, “Who was that?”

Of course they’d noticed Bucky hadn’t been alone at the bar. Well, he supposed it was finally time to come clean. “Steve. Nephew’s baseball coach.” Bucky admitted.

“ _Now_ it makes sense!” Dugan laughed. 

“I might even be convinced to give baseball a go if your players look like _that_.” Monty commented. 

“He’s a coach. Not a player.” Bucky muttered, which wasn’t really the point of anything. He slipped into the booth beside Jones and tried very hard not to stare back at Steve and see what he was up to. Thankfully, Jones took pity on him.

“Go.” He urged Bucky. “You don’t have to stick around for my sake.”

“But it’s your birthday.”

“Not ‘til Sunday. Besides, you let me trounce you at paintball; best present I could ask for.”

Bucky let himself glance back at Steve to see he was still standing at the bar.

“Go.” Jones urged him.

Bucky didn’t need to be told three times. He swiped his pint from the table and left, ignoring the wolf whistles and good-natured jeers of encouragement that followed in his wake.

Steve had settled into a bar stool by the time Bucky returned, but he was still sitting at the bar alone, with his head propped in his hand. He looked a little melancholy now that Bucky was properly paying attention. 

“Hey.” Bucky took the seat next to him.

“You’re back!” Steve’s face lit up at the sight of Bucky. 

“Yeah, my friends said they could spare me.” Bucky felt guilty for not noticing Steve was in a glum mood before. 

Steve looked a little aghast that he’d dragged Bucky away from his friends. “I didn’t mean to drag you away.” He made to turn around to see them, but Bucky caught him before he could. His friends were all unabashedly staring at Bucky and Steve didn’t need to see that. 

“It’s alright. C’mon, let’s get a table.” He grabbed Steve’s elbow and tugged him off the bar stool towards an empty booth at the other end of the bar. 

Steve followed easily. 

“Have you eaten?” Bucky asked as he shuffled into the booth. “They do some great loaded fries here.”

“I could eat.” Steve admitted. He was sitting hunched in the booth, shoulders looking fit to burst through his t-shirt as he picked at the label on his beer bottle. He wasn’t wearing a baseball cap for once and Bucky took the opportunity to properly stare at his face. Now that he was paying attention, Bucky thought Steve looked more drawn than he’d ever noticed before. 

“You okay?”

Steve nodded and sipped at his drink. “Rough day.” Was all the explanation he offered.

“D’you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” 

Bucky decided not to press. He caught the attention of a waitress and ordered a large portion of the fully loaded fries house special for them to share, along with another round of drinks whilst he was at it. 

“Isaac’s been practising his swing all week,” Bucky told Steve, figuring it was a pretty safe topic for conversation. “Says he can’t wait to show you on Saturday.”

Steve gave a shy smile. “Yeah?” 

“Been driving my sister mad. He nearly broke a light fitting on the landing the other day.”

Steve dropped his head into his hands and groaned. “I’ve told them not to use their bats inside, a hundred times.”

“Don’t worry, she doesn’t blame you.” Bucky laughed. 

“Isaac thinks the world of you, you know?” Steve glanced up at Bucky. “He blabbers on about you all the time. It’s always ‘Uncle Bucky this’, ‘Uncle Bucky that’. I was glad when I finally got to put a face to the name.” He gave Bucky a little quirk of a smile.

Bucky’s heart was in his throat, he didn’t really know how to respond to that. Isaac was the brightest thing in his life at the moment and whilst Bucky babbled on about how great Isaac was to anyone who would listen, he had absolutely no idea Isaac might do the same. “He’s a good kid.” Bucky gulped down some drink to try and dislodge the lump in his throat.

“He really is.” 

“I don’t think he’ll quite make it to the All-Stars. Not that I would ever, ever say that to his face,” Bucky laughed.

“God no.” Steve agreed. 

“But he’s smart as a whip. I think he could end up working for NASA one day. Or some kind of engineering at any rate.”

“That what you do?”

“Me? Nah, I’m just a lowly mechanic.” Bucky shook his head. 

“Don’t talk yourself down.” Steve muttered softly.

“College wasn’t ever really an option for me.” Bucky carried on, ignoring Steve’s quiet encouragement. “I’d’ve loved to do aerospace engineering though. Designing space rockets? Can you imagine?”

Steve hummed around the neck of his beer bottle as he took a swig. “I liked your NASA hat last week. Much better than the Reds one.” This time his flirtatious smirk was unmistakable. 

“Hey,” Bucky laughed and waved his drink in a warning. “We agreed. I don’t say anything bad about the Yankees and you lay off the Reds.”

“Alright, alright.” Steve held his hands up in surrender, his mouth stretched into a wide grin. 

Bucky shook his head and plucked a couple of cheesy, bacon covered fries from the plate which had been promptly delivered to their table. “You said you went to college?”

“Yeah.”

“What’d you study?”

“Art and Literature, double major.” Steve answered. “A doubly useless degree.” 

Bucky didn’t comment, people’s degrees weren't something he’d joked about, even mockingly. “Play ball whilst you were there?”

“Yep.” Steve popped the ‘p’. “That was kind of the whole point of going.”

“And after? Swing like yours, you should be playing in the big leagues.” 

Steve dipped his head looking shy again, before surprising Bucky by saying, “I did. For a spell.”

“What? Which team?” Bucky scrutinised Steve’s face. He’d always thought Steve looked a little familiar, but couldn’t place where from. Bucky wracked his brain trying to picture someone who might’ve played five or six years ago. Nothing came to mind, until; “Steve _Rogers_?” Bucky only realised then that he’d never bothered to ask for Steve’s surname. “Not the cleanup hitter who played for the -” _oh god_ , “- the Yankees?” Bucky asked, gobsmacked. 

“The very same.” 

“Holy shit. I didn’t recognise you with the beard.”

Steve ran a hand over his chin and scraped his fingers through the bristles on his jaw. “That’s kinda the idea.” He didn’t seem to care too much about being recognised, though. If anything, he seemed delighted by Bucky’s shock. 

“I think I used to have your baseball card.” Bucky laughed at the absurdity of the situation. No wonder Steve was such a good baseball coach, and no wonder he looked oddly familiar. 

“Oh god, no. That was so embarrassing. It’s such a cheesy photo.”

If Bucky was remembering correctly it really was. “Hold up, let me find it.” Bucky dug his phone from his pocket with a huge grin and googled the image from the card, it came up as the first hit. Steve looked much younger, even though it could only have been taken, at most, eight years ago. He was fresh faced, blonder, and smiling brightly with his bat slung over his shoulder. Bucky shoved his phone in Steve’s face, who was too busy averting his gaze a blushing furiously to look at the picture.

“Stop, I look so young.” Steve pushed the phone away, but he was smiling and he didn’t actually sound annoyed at all. “My ma bought up every copy she could. Would’ve wallpapered the house with them if she’d had her way.” Steve laughed. “She,” he broke off with a fresh bout of laughter like he was only just remembering something, “She managed to get her hands on one of those giant posters, you know the ones they put up around the stadium? Put it up in the back room. Greeted me every time I went home to visit her.” Steve shook his head and began to pick at the wood finish of the table top. “She was so proud of me.”

Bucky didn’t miss the glaring ‘ _was’_ or the sudden shift in tone. “What happened?” 

“She passed. Start of my third season.” Steve sighed. “I, er,” he cleared his throat and kept staring down at the table top. “I just couldn’t play anymore after that. Today’s the anniversary of when I retired.” He admitted, which more than explained his melancholy mood. 

Bucky tried to recall what little he knew of Steve’s career. There was a big hoo-ha in the news because he’d been drafted straight into the major leagues, which was practically unheard of. Most guys had to sweat it out in the minor divisions for a few years, if they even got to see the majors at all. But Steve breezed straight on through and became the Yankees infamous cleanup after only a season with them; responsible for driving in runs with the bases loaded scoring doubles, triples, even grand slams. His batting average was through the roof, until all of a sudden, before the start of what would have been his third season, he just stopped. 

“I’m sorry.” The words didn’t feel like enough but Steve flashed him a grateful smile, even if he didn’t meet Bucky’s eyes. 

“She’d been ill,” Steve explained, staring at his beer bottle and circling it around on its base. The last remnants sloshed and frothed up the sides. “For a year or more. I knew it. But instead of being there with her, taking care of her like I should - like she had with me for all those years when I was a kid - I was travelling across the country playing ball.” Steve drained the rest of his beer in one long, angry gulp before setting the empty bottle down on the table. “Couldn’t bring myself to play after that. I just felt so damn guilty I wasn’t there for her at the end. I wasn’t even doing anything important. Spring training down in Florida whilst she was back here dying.” Steve cut himself off with a sharp intake of breath. 

Bucky instinctively reached out across the table to grab Steve’s hand. He couldn’t say anything, just gave him a comforting squeeze. 

“I know it’s what she would’ve wanted. She was proud of me for getting drafted, she would have hated me for trading in my career for her, but…” Steve gave Bucky’s hand a squeeze back and finally met his eyes again. Bucky could see that the same bright-eyed warmth which shone from the boy on the baseball card was lurking in Steve’s face somewhere; just hidden behind the beard and the sadness he now carried in his eyes. But there were plenty of laughter lines mixed in with the creases from his frowns, proven when his eyes crinkled to give Bucky a weak smile. “Took me a while to get over my grief, but I got there in the end. I was lucky I had good friends to see me through it. They - Sam and Nat - helped me realise that my ma would have hated being the reason I stopped playing. I took up coaching, and haven’t looked back.”

“They’re not with you today...?” It sounded a little rude to ask, but Bucky couldn’t help it.

“Nah, I normally prefer to be alone today.”

“Oh.” Bucky clamped his mouth shut, suddenly feeling a little out of place. “I can, er, go, if you’d prefer?”

“No.” Steve’s reply was instantaneous and he even reached to grab Bucky’s hand again. “I was,” Steve faltered, “really glad when I ran into you. Please stay?”

“Of course.” Bucky kept a tight hold of Steve’s hand and used his feet under the table to give Steve’s foot a gentle kick as well. “Do you still play at all?”

“Nah. Don’t think I’d be able to go a whole game, but I come out here to bat when the stress gets a little too much.”

“I imagine it’s probably a great stress reliever.” Bucky agreed. “Never actually tried myself,” he admitted, and then immediately hid behind his glass when Steve gaped at him. 

“What never played at all?”

“Well, everyone did in gym class, right? And I’ve pitched at Isaac a time or two, but I’ve never played properly, and I’ve never tried a batting cage.” Not that he was ever, ever, going to admit it, but those pitching machines terrified him. “I prefer balls when they’re _not_ being launched at my face at 70mph.” he deadpanned with just a hint of innuendo. Steve gave a startled cough and that delightful blush crept back along the tips of his ears. 

“Well, we can soon change that.”

“Balls flying at my face?” Bucky asked, a picture of innocence, hoping he could distract Steve from his melancholy with more flirting; it seemed to have worked before. The remark made Steve laugh at least, and Bucky grinned. 

“Batting practise.” Steve corrected. “Fancy a go?”

“Right now?”

“Why not? You’re all the way out here already. And I shouldn’t really have another drink if I’m driving home.” 

Bucky hesitated. As much as he liked the idea of Steve standing close behind him, correcting his swing, the pitching machine really did terrify him. But Steve was looking at him with a really hopeful expression and Bucky just couldn’t say no to that. 

“Alright fine.” Bucky agreed and Steve beamed. It was probably exactly the kind of distraction he needed. 

They called for the check and Steve waved away Bucky’s attempts to pay - also leaving a rather generous tip stuffed under his empty bottle. 

“You just want another chance to show off.” Bucky commented as he shrugged his jacket back on.

“Maybe,” Steve smiled; his eyes warm and glowing once again. 

Bolstered by the knowledge that he’d managed to cheer Steve up, and maybe helped by the alcohol and left-over adrenaline buzzing through his veins, Bucky slipped his arm through Steve’s as they walked around the corner back to the batting cages. 

The sun was well on the way to setting and dusk was quickly drawing in. The paintball place was closed up for the night but giant flood lights illuminated the batting cages and the mini-golf, and sounds of raucous cheers and screeching brakes came from the go-kart course that looped and wove around the complex. Steve paid for a half hour session and collected the equipment they’d need; fitting a helmet over Bucky’s head for him, despite the fact that Bucky was perfectly capable of doing that himself. Not that Bucky minded Steve standing close and carefully checking the fit and made sure it wasn’t going to get knocked loose. Bucky stared at Steve, hardly daring to breathe as his gaze flitted between Steve’s eyes, his impossibly long lashes, and plump lips which curled up into a knowing smile when he finally stepped back.

“All set.” Steve stuffed a helmet onto his own head and held open the gate to the screened off cage for Bucky to step through. “We’ll start slow.” Steve said and Bucky wasn’t entirely sure what they were talking about anymore.

“Sounds good,” he breathed back. 

“Okay. First, you need a good grip.”

“I know my way around a bat,” Bucky insisted, before adding, “I know how to handle a shaft.” He smirked and glanced up at Steve for his reaction. 

Steve just groaned. “That was terrible, Buck. Just for that, you’re buying the drinks next time we go out.” 

Bucky was still dazed from Steve’s casual conviction that there would be a next time, that he didn't protest as Steve stepped forwards to adjust the way Bucky’s hand lay around the bat. Buck flexed his fingers in the hold and pulled his arm back ready.

“Not so fast. Footwork next.” Steve planted his feet to demonstrate. “You need a firm front side. Bend the leg a little if you need, but make sure it doesn’t move. Then you want your back foot on your toe to really drive the power through your swing.”

Bucky stood as instructed and Steve nodded, then, before Bucky was entirely ready, Steve stepped behind him and used his hands to guide Bucky’s arms through the swing. His presence was a warm, solid weight pressed tight to Bucky’s back, and Bucky felt sure Steve was standing too close on purpose. He walked Bucky through the motions of a perfect swing which Bucky kept messing up on purpose just to give Steve an excuse to stay there for longer.

“You must have it by now,” Steve breathed in a stern whisper that tickled Bucky’s ear. 

“Just one more demo.” Bucky insisted. Steve’s hand twitched around Bucky’s arm. His hands were strong and calloused from years of playing baseball but his touch was incredibly gentle. Bucky tried very hard to not shiver as Steve guided him through the motions once more, this time not making a sound as he pulled Bucky’s arms back and then forwards in slow motion before letting his hands slip down to Bucky’s forearms in a manner that could only be called a caress.

“Perfect.” Steve exhaled.

Bucky could only gulp.

“Now let’s try for real.”

His presence was suddenly gone and Bucky ached at the loss, immediately losing the good form Steve had tried to instil in him. Steve switched on the machine and set it to a slow speed before stepping clear to let Bucky have at it.

He missed the first ball which fell to the floor behind him, but the next three were sent clattering into the netting with powerful drives in quick succession.

“Awesome!” Steve cheered. “Try keeping your back knee in line with your hip.”

Bucky adjusted his stance and sent the rest of the volley smacking into the net with a series of resounding ‘thunks’. He was flushed with pride (and just a little slick with sweat) when the machine finally powered down. 

“Now you. I want to watch.” Bucky was surprised to find his breath was a little short as he passed the bat across to Steve. It made him sound a little desperate, but Bucky didn’t care.

Steve just smiled. “Sure. Maybe stand outside?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, thinking it was just more of Steve’s showing off, but after the machine was cranked back up to full speed Bucky was glad he was safely standing on the other side of the cage. The speed of the pitches as they were fired from the machine, like stones from a canon, was phenomenal, but it was nothing to the power that Steve returned to knock them into the netting - with a force that looked like they might burst clean through at times. His form was relentless, he didn’t miss a single pitch and the fluidity of his movements as he swung through each strike of the bat was like watching a dance. His muscles shifted and moved under his thin t-shirt, bunching and sliding, and Bucky just knew he had to have his hands all over Steve’s back. He needed those thighs clenched around him. To hell with being scared of commitment, scared of entering another relationship, Bucky felt like he might just die if he didn’t get his mouth on Steve’s biceps. 

“That what you wanted?” Steve grinned, breathlessly, as he swaggered from the cage.

Bucky just launched himself at Steve, crowding him back against the chain link fence and kissing him with force. Steve went willingly, letting Bucky press him back and opening his mouth to return Bucky’s kisses hungrily. 

Steve let out a soft “ _fuck_ ” when Bucky finally broke away for a breath.

“This okay?” Bucky asked quietly, fisting his hands in Steve’s shirt and not quite sure he’d survive if Steve told him no.

“More than.” Steve darted in to press a couple of quick kisses against Bucky’s mouth and brought his hand up to run through Bucky’s hair, pushing a stray tendril back behind his ear. “I’ve been hoping you’d do that since the day we met.”

“Really?”

Steve cupped Bucky’s face and stared deeply into his eyes. “You know you’re gorgeous, right?” he asked. “God, I’d heard so much about this ‘uncle Bucky’ who sounded like the greatest guy on the planet, and then there you were, in those _jeans_ , with the nicest hair I’ve ever seen. And your smile, Buck. God. You blamed me for putting you off your game? Hell, Bucky, you’ve been distracting me for weeks. It’s a wonder we ain’t bottom of the league.”

“Sorry,” Bucky breathed, still trapped under Steve’s gaze. His heart had started beating wildly in his chest. 

“Don’t be sorry.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Bucky’s eyes flickered between Steve’s. 

“I was waiting for you to make the first move.”

“Fuck.” Bucky dove in to kiss Steve harder, pressing their bodies flush. “Then, I should have done this much sooner.” 

Steve answered by slipping his hand round to the base of Bucky’s skull and pulling him in for another kiss. “Want to get out here?”

“Mhmm.”

“Let me drive you home?”

“Mhmm.” Bucky hummed again, sucking on Steve’s lower lip before a delightful idea sprung to mind. “Wouldn’t want to mess up your batting average.” He purred. 

Steve’s brows pulled together in the cutest little frown. 

“You retired on a home run streak,” Bucky murmured against the corner of Steve’s mouth and began to pepper kisses along his jaw. “Right now we’re only a first base.” He finished setting up the innuendo with his best cheeky grin. 

It took a moment for Bucky’s meaning to sink in and Steve gave a huff of laughter when it did. “Oh my _god_ , Buck. How long have you been waiting to use that?”

“Long enough.” He grinned and slipped a thigh between Steve’s legs. They couldn’t go much further out in public as they were, but Bucky was nothing if not an outrageous tease.

It was hard to keep their hands off each other on the drive home, Bucky didn’t even bother making any digs about Steve’s terrible choice in cars as they wove through the quiet streets back towards Bucky’s place in Flatbush. By the time Steve had parked up on the curb outside, Bucky was practically vibrating with lust and anticipation. He grabbed Steve by the lapels of his jacket and hauled him in for a kiss on the sidewalk, and another on each landing as they slowly made their way up the stairs to Bucky’s apartment. 

They hit second base pressed up against the wall immediately inside Bucky’s apartment, and third when Bucky pushed Steve onto the sofa and sunk to his knees. Then, finally, in a six-week culmination of Bucky’s deepest wishes, they hit fourth amongst the rucked sheets of Bucky’s bed. 

Bucky didn’t remember ever feeling so blissed out after sleeping with someone for the first time. Maybe it was because they’d spent so long dancing around each other that they knew how the other moved, or could anticipate what they might like. Or maybe it was just because Steve was an all-round wonderful person and brilliant at everything he tried. Either way, if that was how good it had been on their first try, Bucky couldn’t wait to find out how great it would be after they've been around the diamond a few more times. 

He whispered as much to Steve as he stirred awake the morning after, and earned himself a playfully disgruntled swipe with a pillow. 

“No more baseball sex jokes,” Steve muttered into his pillow.

“But there’s so many!” Bucky replied with delight. If anything, he was annoyed with himself that it had taken this long for him to realise how many excellent innuendos there were. A quick google search only brought up a million more. “Let me get my mouth on your pitcher’s mound?” he wiggled his eyebrows and Steve almost pushed him out of bed in retaliation. 

“C’mon, don’t make me strike out.” Bucky rolled Steve onto his back and straddled him. He ran his hands down Steve’s chest and marvelled at Steve’s strong muscles, so delightfully happy that he’d finally worked up the courage to make a move and give them both what they wanted. “Let me at your strike zone.”

“I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.” Steve sighed, resigned. 

Bucky began trailing kisses down the taught planes of Steve’s stomach to demonstrate. He mouthed at Steve’s hip, peering up from under his lashes to watch Steve slowing come undone. 

“M’going for third.” Bucky beamed. 

“Fuck you.” Steve muttered, but without any conviction this time.

Bucky’s gave a proud hum and grinned up at Steve. He was going to have so much fun with this. 

=

_~ One Year Later ~_

“C’mon Isaac, you’ve got this!” Bucky cheered loudly from the stands. 

Isaac turned to flash his uncle a grin before stepping up to the plate. He’d had a growth spurt in the last year and his helmet no longer slipped down into his eyes. He flexed his grip around the bat and stared down the pitcher with a steely determination. He pulled back and - _thunk_ \- the ball sailed high over the fielders’ heads and clattered against the chain-link fence surrounding the field. 

Bucky leapt to his feet and began to whoop and cheer as Isaac dipped his head and ran as fast as his little eight-year old legs would take him; past first base, then second, and third, until he skidded across forth - home safe before the catcher could tag him out. 

“YES!” Bucky shouted, throwing up his arms and leading the rest of the crowd in a rousing cheer. The rest of the team rushed the field to mob Isaac with hugs. “Go Isaac!” Bucky yelled, bursting with pride. The run, from the last hit of the game, took them up to 7-2, a far more decisive win than they were used to, and pushed them one stop closer to the top of the league. 

Bucky let Isaac’s teammates have their moment before he tried to fight his way through to congratulate his nephew. 

“That was incredible!” he gave Isaac a resounding high five before sweeping him up onto his shoulders and starting to sing a low chorus of ‘we are the champions’. The kid was getting heavy, but Bucky would be damned if he couldn’t cart Isaac round on his shoulders for another year or so, at least.

“Stop it!” Isaac laughed as Bucky bounced him up and down and carried him over to the dugout where Steve was watching the whole thing unfold with a fond smile. 

Bucky swung Isaac back onto the ground and let him scurry away to get packed up, before closing the last few paces between him and Steve. Bucky swept Steve’s baseball cap from his head leant in for a quick, chaste kiss. 

“Well done, Coach. Fifth win of the season. You might win the league yet.” Bucky grinned. 

“I’m just happy we’re ending a game with no one in tears for a change.” Steve laughed. He ran a hand through his hair to shake some shape back into it, letting sunlight spill through the golden strands.

Bucky resisted the urge to run his hands through Steve’s hair, letting his fingertips brush down Steve’s forearm and entwining their hands instead. “You joining us for post-match waffles today?”

“He has too.” Isaac piped up. He’d packed-up in his lightning quick but very messy manner and suddenly back underfoot once again. “Con-silly waffles are a tradition as old as time.” Isaac parroted Bucky’s words back to him.

“A consolation's only for when you lose.” Bucky gently corrected him. 

Isaac tilted his head to the side and frowned. “But we went for waffles last week?”

“When you win, they’re _celebratory_ waffles.” Bucky grinned. Isaac stared at Bucky like he was an impossible fool, before shaking his head with a far too grown up and exasperated air. 

“Whatever. S’long as I still get ice cream.” 

“With extra sprinkles.” Steve chipped into to agree.

“Yeah, double sprinkles because we won.” Isaac beamed and began to skip off towards the car.

“Becca’s gonna kill me if we keep feeding him so much sugar,” Bucky sighed.

“Sounds like that’s your problem to me.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes and gave Steve a mocked-annoyed nudge and leant close to whisper. “Fine, see if I show you my _split finger fastball_ later,” he smirked right into Steve’s ear.

“Oh my god.” Steve shook his head. “That was terrible.”

“You love it.” Bucky pressed a kiss to the juncture of Steve’s jaw, feeling the bristles of Steve’s beard tickle his cheek. “And you love me. You know why?”

“Why?” Steve played along, tucking a stray strand of Bucky’s hair behind his ear.

“Because I’m a _catch_.”

Steve tipped his head back and laughed. He looked as happy as Bucky felt. 

“You are.” Steve grinned. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Bucky wrapped both arms around Steve’s waist and arched up to give him a proper kiss. For a moment they were lost staring into each other’s eyes until Isaac yelled at them from across the pitch.

“STOP BEING GROSS. ARE WE GOING FOR WAFFLES OR WHAT?” 

They broke away laughing.

“I’ll finish up here, and meet you there?” Steve offered.

“Sounds good.” Bucky gave him one last peck and stuff Steve’s cap messily back on his head, before hurrying across the pitch to scoop Isaac off his feet and blow raspberries on his stomach like he had when Isaac was a toddler. “C’mon then, you menace.” Bucky glanced over his shoulder to see Steve tidying up the dug-out. The sun was shining through his hair, and his extra tight shirt was pulled taut across his strong back. Even after all this time, Bucky couldn’t believe how lucky he’d got. 

Bucky pulled his phone from his pocket before he started the engine, grinning at the photo from Steve’s baseball card that he had saved as his lock screen, and sent Steve a quick text - just because he could:

_Love you x_

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like it! I had so much fun writing this, and I might add some more chapters in future so if you have any coach!steve requests, please let me know! You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/astrobucky) / [Tumblr](https://trenchcoatsandtimetravel.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> Please go and thank [@Fadefilter](https://twitter.com/fadefilter) for the wonderful art and like the posts on twitter :D
> 
> (ps comments are always appreciated <3)
> 
> (pps please don't come at me for which teams they support in this fic or for making Steve play for the yankees. This is a modern au. Our 40's brooklyn boys might have something to say about this, but a Steve Rogers born in the late 80s/early 90s is most likely going to support the yankees, especially if he got a chance to play for them <3)
> 
> (ppps most of my baseball knowledge comes from watching films, so I apologise if there's anything glaringly wrong!)
> 
> Thanks!!!


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